


Perfect Balance

by MagicMysticFantasy



Series: Perfect Balance Inspired [1]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Bellarke, Extended Metaphors, F/M, Fire, Gen, Hinted at Bellarke, Hurricane, Metaphors, Poison, Royalty, Storms, comparisons, flower - Freeform, monarchs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-31
Updated: 2015-10-30
Packaged: 2018-04-29 02:03:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,858
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5112257
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MagicMysticFantasy/pseuds/MagicMysticFantasy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She perplexed him. He confused her. He thought she was fragile. She thought he was a sickness. They were opposites, but somehow, they made it work when they were together. The others of course could see it all from the very beginning. They were two opposing forces finding their perfect balance. Hinted at Bellarke.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Hurricane

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own The 100 or its characters, only my original ideas.
> 
> Note: Feel free to leave a comment or kudos! They make my day when they are good and show me where to improve when they aren't. Enjoy!

The first time they met, he compared her to a flower- pretty, but weak and easily damaged. What else would he have expected? She was one of the privileged, and the privileged didn't need to grow a thick skin and sturdy roots like the rest of them. Her show of strength and determination was exactly that: a show. He held that to be true up until the first poison fog and Atom.

Despite what he had done to get to the ground, he was no killer. Seeing Atom, one of the few people closest to being his friends down here (closest only because friendship was weakness, they wouldn't respect him if he was their _friend_ ), lying on the ground dying and in pain brought him to a halt. He couldn't do it, even for mercy.

When he saw her there, he expected her facade of strength to fall, for the flower to finally wilt. Instead, he saw her grow stronger, and her eyes grow sad. She began singing. Atom relaxed a little, focusing on the sound of her voice. Then, to the tune of a haunting lullaby, she took the knife from him and did what he couldn't, her eyes fixed on the dying boy. His eyes didn't move from her.

Just like that, the image of the flower he had built up withered and turned to dust, leaving him with clear eyes for the first time since they'd all landed. He felt a tendril of respect begin to form, and he allowed it to remain – at least until he could decide what she really was, because she was not a flower.

He watched her subtly, not wanting to draw attention to the fact that she perplexed him. The more he saw however, the more he could see just how wrong he had been to box her up with the rest of the privileged on the Ark. It took him nearly a week to find the right comparison, and it might have taken longer, but that day the first storm came.

She was like a storm, with a wild beauty all her own. The comparison was a perfect fit to him. She nurtured their group, even as she shook them to their roots. She wielded her torrent with an ease that vaguely reminded him of the goddesses in the myths of old. Needless to say, he was surprised and slightly concerned at the thought.

He had called her 'princess' before, mocking the easy lifestyle she'd had back on the Ark. Now he called her a princess because that's what she was. It had changed from an insult to a sign of respect. Just when had he begun to respect her so much? That tendril had grown and grown until it now inhabited all of him.

None of the others seemed to notice her storm-like personality. The one time he'd used the comparison in a conversation ( _not_ that he was talking about her, he _wasn't_ , it was an offhand remark, okay?), he'd gotten strange looks from Miller for the next several days. Even now, the guy still looked at him funny when he talked with her.

He wondered how none of the others felt her flood. She was a thunderstorm surrounded by mere _fog_ for crying out loud. At the beginning, it unnerved him, because he only saw the danger she would bring them. Now though, he could see the other side of her storms. She was a healer and a warrior, a destroyer and a life-bringer.

After that first storm had passed, he had emerged from the drop-ship to discover that the world had changed. Leaves, branches, and various parts of their camp had been strewn about. The ground was covered in mud and dirty water that squelched with every step. Within the hour, they'd all forgotten what it was to be clean and dry. Their make-shift tents were destroyed, torn apart by the wind and rain.

It was a while before he had the time to make it out of the walls. Once he did though, he was nearly floored by the sharp contrast to the camp's interior. There was still a mess, but the world looked vibrant and alive, as if everything had been revived and rejuvenated. The air smelled cleaner than before, the water from the river tasted sweeter. The world was nearly glowing in health.

That was the kind of storm she was. If you were one of her own, she was a force of good. If you threatened those she cared for (or, god forbid, actually followed through on your threat), she would strike you down in an electric display of violent fury. And not even the immortals of the past would be able to help you then.

Sometimes he wondered where he was on her spectrum, seeing as he occasionally saw her destructive side as well. He didn't really mind though, even when he felt like he was barely hanging on in the face of her rushing waters.

Her floods required him to be better. He had to act quicker, be smarter, grow stronger, and run faster to avoid the resulting destruction. She challenged him in ways the others, fog-like as they were, never could. She didn't ask that he live up to her expectations of him, she demanded it. And for the first time in his life, he found that he could comply. In the short time that they'd been on Earth, she'd changed him more than anything in the past twenty years ever had, his sister excluded.

He hadn't seen it at first, but once he had, he wondered how he could ever have mistaken her for a flower, fragile and superficial. Inside, she was filled with such power and strength, he wondered how her small frame contained it all. She wasn't just a thunderstorm. If the rest of them were fog, then she was a hurricane.


	2. Wildfire

When she first met him, she thought he was like poison. He seemed to leech the strength out of the group, dissolving the fragile structure they had begun to form in the face of his own selfish goals. Only his sister seemed safe, though even she felt his touch sometimes. It wasn't until Atom that she realized the comparison was off.

She had heard weak gasps coming from the nearby foliage, and had followed it to where Atom lay dying and in pain from the fog. He had been crouched over his friend (that's what they were, though he would have denied it, declaring it weak, though it only made him stronger in the eyes of the others), a horrified look in his eyes. In that moment, she had seen something in his eyes going out. Driven by some unknown certainty, she knew that she had to save whatever it was that was dying in his gaze.

She looked the boy over quickly, hoping for an easier solution, but even from a distance she had seen it was hopeless. Atom died quickly, to the tune her mother had hummed to her when she woke up screaming for her father after he was floated. It seemed only fitting that the lullaby that had comforted her after a death would comfort the boy as he went to it. She saw him watching her from the corner of her eye, but she made sure to keep her gaze fixed on Atom's as his breathing stopped. She was wary of what she would see in his gaze, and was uncertain now that he wasn't the poison she had thought.

For the next several days, she avoided looking him in the eye. She would look at his forehead, or his nose, or his eyebrows. (Now she knows that she was afraid she had failed, and was avoiding seeing the absence of whatever had been in his eyes before, because it might have died anyway, despite her best efforts.)

When she finally meets his gaze again, it's after Charlotte, and she's arguing against killing Murphy. She's desperate to save that _something_ in the both of them, otherwise she'd chuck the maniac over the cliff herself. He's yelling at her, but she's pushing right back, and then their eyes meet and she's stunned at what she sees there.

She had been wrong before, so, so wrong to compare him to poison. A slow and sneaky substance was not the right comparison at all. What she sees now in him is nothing but _fire_. She wonders now how on Earth she hadn't realized it before, even as she was feeling its effects, and seeing the results of the flames he contained.

He practically burned with a passion that he threw into everything he did, whether it was defending their people (really his, they only listen to her because he does, much to her grateful surprise), or making her life a living hell. She's rather disconcerted to find that she doesn't even mind so much, and barely admits to herself that she wouldn't have it any other way.

His flames are both reassuring and dangerous. He rages like fire when either he or those he cares about are threatened, scorching anyone who dares to defy him. The resulting inferno is terrible, burning lawless and wild, and the only ones who are safe are the ones he's defending. She feared him at first for this very reason, but now has come to rely upon it, seeing as she has become one of the ones he is willing to burn for.

However, also like fire, he provides safety and survival. People need fire for warmth, for light, for defense. It was the reason that the first spark was lit, and it has continued to be true ever since. She knows that if he could, he'd provide all of that for them and more. She also knows that the 100 and early man have something in common: neither would have made it without fire.

She wonders how none of the others can see it. She mentioned the comparison to Octavia once ( _no_ , she doesn't talk about him, the subject just came up, okay?), and the girl had raised her eyebrows and quirked her lips in a way that implied something that she just wasn't understanding. Even now the girl still makes an odd expression whenever she catches sight of her talking to her brother, though so far he hasn't noticed.

It wasn't until she was talking with Finn and burst out that she trusted him and his flames that she realized it was true. When had she begun to put such faith in him? When had she begun to realize that they were all mere sparks compared to his blazing flames? She doesn't allow herself to ponder on the thoughts for long, because she doesn't have the time – or quite frankly, the energy – at the moment. Despite her best efforts, though, they linger in the back of her mind, coming to her attention at the least opportune moments.

What she is certain of, though, is that even if the others end up no longer needing him (they won't, they'll always need him), then she will. His fire makes he run faster, think quicker, grow stronger, and become better at everything she does so she can avoid the flames. He challenges her in a way that the others, mere sparks like herself, never can. That's something that she will need, even if the rest of the world decides it doesn't.

She hadn't seen it at first, and then when she had, it took a while to see past the danger his flames presented. Once she understood them though, she no longer feared them, but welcomed them, and wondered how she had ever not seen them before. He burned so brightly that she wondered how his mortal frame contained it all, because if they were all sparks, then he was a wildfire.


	3. Monarchs

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: Hey! So this story unintentionally inspired me to write several oneshots inspired by the metaphors I used, and hopefully it will turn into a larger series eventually! Anyway, for those of you who liked this and are interested in seeing some more of Bellamy and Clarke, feel free to check them out. Thanks so much, and enjoy the final chapter!

When they first landed on the ground, none of the 100 really paid much attention to the others. They were all reveling in the fact that they were surrounded by green, and fresh air, and life in comparison to the cold and fake interior of the Ark. They were rejoicing in their new-found freedom, and second chance at living. For a while, none of them really stood out much, they were all just other faces, sharing in the overwhelming joy.

Once the sheer _newness_ of their surroundings wore off though, their minds drifted to what they were going to do now. They were used to following orders coming from someone with more influence and power. They didn't like it, but they were smart enough to know that they needed someone to be in charge.

They were used to what was essentially a monarchy – it being all they knew, having experienced nothing else in their lives – and monarchies need a king. The leading candidate had been Bellamy. He was the oldest, and what he said made sense. Why should they care about people who had condemned them to death, no matter the crime, and no matter their age? They began to cut off the wristbands, declaring their freedom to the rest of the world, and leaving behind their lives before the Skybox. Something felt off though, so some of them kept a wary eye on the rapidly rising candidate for the throne. Something felt like it was missing.

When the Princess of the Ark began to challenge the rising king, it showed that there was another candidate for the throne. After all, who said that the new monarch had to be a king? A queen would fit the role just as well. Clarke's supporters were mainly the wary ones and those who still cared about the people still on the Ark. They weren't the majority of the group, but still a force to be reckoned with.

It wasn't until the two candidates began to work together (after Charlotte and Murphy, and had their small group really changed enough to become murderers so easily?) that they all took a step back and really _looked_ at who stood before them. They were impressed and awed by what they saw there.

Both Bellamy and Clarke were impressive leaders on their own, otherwise neither would have become candidates for the throne at all. When they worked together though, they were unequaled, and the 100 could almost believe that they could accomplish anything they wanted, so long as those two were together. They stood out from the rest of them, so far that none of them even came close.

They both glowed like the stars: two bright points of light surrounded by inky darkness. The only others that stood a chance were the ones whose lives they touched closest, but even they came nowhere near their leaders. For that's what they were by this point, their leaders.

Who ever said there could only ever be one throne? After all, every king needs his queen to share his burden with. Bellamy already called Clarke 'princess', and well, wasn't she? Queen was what she would become, once crowned. Besides, how could they ever go back to just one of them, much less pick only one of them, now that they had seen what they could accomplish together? They had found the perfect balance between them, and casting aside one would topple the other.

That balance was necessary because, while they were unstoppable united, they were so very different. Bellamy was like the Sun. He burned bright with a heated passion that brought them life, but could also be damaging if they remained in it for too long. And if Bellamy was the Sun, then Clarke was the Moon. She brought a healing cool to counter his burning heat, though she could be colder than ice when crossed.

Hot and cold, day and night. Both needed the other to survive, and so it was with their two leaders. The 100 weren't blind; they could see that the two were close. They also knew that they were the only ones who could match the other so perfectly. Push and pull, fire and water. Those were the metaphors that they used for each other, and the 100 agreed that it worked.

His flames turned her floods to steam, and her waters turned his inferno to ash. They were able to contain each other with their respective elements, and encourage the other to do better. They needed each other in a way they didn't need anyone else. They were stars that behaved like the Sun and Moon, inspiring awe and fascination and obedience and loyalty in all who saw them. They worked perfectly together, and were perfect _for_ each other. Therefore, it came as no surprise when one day their king and queen returned to camp with their fingers intertwined, and shy, knowing smiles on their faces.

The 100 merely smiled. The teasing and jokes would come later. For now though, they would simply enjoy watching their monarchs discover what the rest of them already knew. For they were the Sun and the Moon, day and night, fire and water. And they had found the perfect balance.


End file.
